


Clouds

by nekojita



Series: Clouds AU [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: AFTG Exchange, AFTG Exchange Valentine's Day 2018, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coffee Shop, College AU, M/M, a little bit soft?, exchange student Andrew, vague references to the boys' pasts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 10:58:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13634904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekojita/pseuds/nekojita
Summary: Needing to put some space between him and his twin brother, Andrew Minyard decides to study aboard for his junior year of university. Except things aren't that different in Manchester, UK - he still doesn't want to be bothered with people or to do much of anything, so he finds a quiet coffee shop out of the way to spend his time when not in class.A quiet coffee shop where a quiet (attractive) young man whom Andrew tells himself is not interesting at all works.Valentine's Day fic exchange for AFTGExchange





	Clouds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [steampunkburie](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=steampunkburie).



> All right, so steampunkburie asked for a fic about coffee shops or college, and I combined the two prompts? It's a tiny bit soft, I think (it's AU and the premise changes a couple of things - no meds for Andrew, Neil in a little more of a secure home), because of where the boys are at in their lives. Anyway, I hope you like it. I even tried to work in the holiday somewhat....
> 
> Vague mentions of their pasts, but nothing graphic at all.  
> *******

*******

Andrew stared at his laptop screen, certain that Professor Dollberg spent her spare time coming up with these equations just to torment the class. He tapped his fingers against the tabletop then grabbed his mug, only to realize that it was empty.

Clicking his tongue in disgust, he glanced over at the counter and found Neil busy with a rare customer, another mild annoyance; one of the things that had drawn Andrew to The Bolt-Hole (an odd name for a coffee shop, but he was finding a lot of oddly named places there in the UK) was that the place was quiet and out of the way, and didn’t give a damn if he smoked on premises. In fact, it was so quiet and out of the way, leading to pure dumb luck (as well as a bad sense of direction and a very full bladder) on his part to even find it, that he sometimes wondered how it stayed in business.

He told himself it was the criminology degree and a pessimistic nature which made him think of fronts, but still….

The older man dressed in a worn trench coat and a cap pulled low on his head nodded to Neil as he accepted his tea and a bag containing some type of pastry and left the shop, which meant that Neil glanced over at Andrew and caught sight of Andrew’s empty mug held up. A quick nod later, Neil was busy making another double mocha latte with extra espresso, and brought it and a slice of the chocolate spice cake over to the table.

“What are you working on today?” he asked in that quiet manner of his, as always standing just out of reach with his hands tucked behind the light grey apron he wore once the food and drink were set down on the table. Everything about Neil was quiet and muted – his clothes in pale shades of blue and grey and worn loose on his slight figure (just a little taller than Andrew’s five feet), his hair a dull shade of brown which matched his eyes. Yet none of that could hide the attractive angles of his face – the full bottom lip, those long eyelashes, the sharp cheekbones. The way the mere sight of him and sound of his voice always made something grow tight and itchy inside of Andrew, made him feel as if his own body was too constrictive and unresponsive all of a sudden.

He should hate being around Neil for that reason, yet he kept coming back to the quiet coffee shop, and it wasn’t just because it was the perfect place to study, that the drinks were cheap and the desserts decent.

“A new formula,” Andrew said as he motioned to his laptop, mindful that the sleeve of his black sweater didn’t pull back to reveal the armband beneath.

“Ah.” Neil hesitated for a moment before cocking his head to the side, then came around when Andrew nodded. “Let me see.”

While Andrew’s eidetic memory aided him in the majority of classes (was good for _something_ ), when it came to a class like statistical analysis, it only helped to memorize the formulas, not understand how to apply them to his convoluted assignments. He usually was good at figuring these things out, but the class was a higher level one and the professor not the best at explaining things.

Neil? Not only was he a decent barista but he also was something of a math whiz. Upon watching Andrew puzzle over a math assignment for a few days the previous semester, Neil had dared to speak up and offer a solution, and Andrew had found that the young man was taking online classes in mathematical sciences with a minor in linguistics. The only thing more surprising than his choice in majors was the fact that Neil decided to not go any of Manchester’s three universities.

Especially since one of them was quite good; Andrew was still surprised that he was spending his junior year on an exchange program with the University of Manchester. All he’d cared about at the time when he’d looked into a year abroad was getting away from Aaron before one of them did something they regretted.

Well, possibly regretted on his brother’s part and got a fresh set of charges slapped on Andrew, especially since he went around with at least two knives on his presence at all times.

So he’d left for a year abroad and miserable weather and a roommate who kept rambling on about a stupid sport (Andrew had been more than happy to quit playing Exy once he’d gotten out of juvie, so _no_ he didn’t want to hear about cricket – insect or activity). Prasad at least kept to his side of their dorm room and was relatively neat (the occasional wet towel left about aside), so Andrew suffered through the shared living space… he also found reasons to be in as little as possible.

Which was why he spent so much time at The Bolt-Hole, pretending not to study a certain barista who, when not making (a few) drinks or keeping the (empty) place clean, would hitch a lean hip against the counter and read what looked to be a Russian novel or work on a tablet he kept behind the counter.

On very rare occasions, he would talk to Andrew a little, usually when he came around to sweep the floor or drop off another mug or dessert. Just small-talk – _very_ small-talk. Things like his major and that he studied online. That he lived alone but had a cat (which Andrew had figured out already due to the black cat hairs clinging to his light blue jeans). That he didn’t like sweets.

Which was made evident when it was time to close the shop for the evening (there had been four other customers that day while Andrew had sat and studied – three men and a woman) when Neil gathered several of the pastries from the display case and put them in a small box, which he held out to Andrew with a slight smile. “Here.”

Andrew accepted it with a slight frown. “Seriously, how do you make any money?” Not that Andrew gave a damn, other than he would be put-out if the place closed and he had to find another place that was as cheap and didn’t care about him smoking. That let him sit there all day and didn’t get offended if he was in one of his off-moods, when he could barely say a word even to order. That had such a gorgeous barista who was mindful of his space.

Neil gave a slight shrug. “It’s just going to be pitched in the morning, there’s no need in it being wasted. So you and your friends may as well eat them.”

Right, Andrew and his ‘friends’. He’d occasionally leave something for Prasad, especially if there was a mincemeat pie in there, but there was a reason he’d put on a few pounds since coming here, and Neil’s ‘generosity’ was it.

Andrew waited for him as he shut everything down and then locked the door, and as usual there was the sleek black Aston Martin sedan waiting outside for Neil to slip into after the quiet young man gave him a slight wave ‘good night’. It drove off with a revved purr of an engine which made Andrew long for the ability to drive a car of his own, to be able to get out on the highway and roam around for hours… but he was stuck with the public transportation system while in the UK.

Besides, it was just a few more months until he returned to the US – it was already the beginning of February, which meant that he was past the halfway point. A few more months of dealing with Prasad and cold rain and weird food and Nicky calling all of the time asking if he wanted to head to Germany for the weekend or holiday or whatever.

A few more months to figure out why Neil worked in a dead coffee shop and seemed to have an escort to and from work every day, and barely talked to anyone but Andrew. Why that thick, unruly hair appeared dyed (the color slightly uneven and darker one month than the previous), and why there was a so thin line of pale blue in those brown eyes (Andrew hadn’t been staring, dammit).

A few more months until he was back in the States and away from the growing… insanity which made him want to walk up to the counter and lean against it while Neil read one of his Russian novels, to ask him to translate the book out loud just so he could hear that quiet voice speak a little more.

There were times when Andrew truly detested himself, when he realized that he hadn’t quite managed to stamp down all of his emotions, had eradicated that traitorous sense of hope inside of him just yet. He should have learned better after Cass, should have realized that it was foolish to hope for something when Aaron had proven to be so false. No one wanted anything to do with someone as broken and fucked up as him, after all, and he couldn’t blame them.

It didn’t stop him from thinking about Neil during his classes, or at night in the dorm, or during the weekend when his homework was done and he was bored. There really wasn’t that much for him to do besides study, take short sightseeing trips (he didn’t give a shit about old castles, but he’d ride on a train for a good meal), or visit Nicky (hang out a bar all weekend).

He could always go down to Canal Street and some of the pubs there, see if he could find someone like Billy back at PSU, someone who understood boundaries and didn’t push too far or ask for too much… but it seemed like so much effort.

Why bother when he could sit in a coffee shop almost every day (Neil wasn’t there on Sundays and closed early on Saturdays) and not-stare at a pipe dream? At someone he’d never have?

At least he was passing statistics.

“What did you get on that last quiz?” the tall guy who always wore too much Axe body spray and sat in the row in front of him asked as they stood up to leave. “Did you even get a 40%?” When Andrew merely gave him a blank look back, the guy groaned. “What, don’t tell me you got something better, eh? In the _50’s_?”

Andrew took his paper with the 92% on it and walked away.

Early February meant that it was cold, with a bit of snow at the start of the month and rain just about every other day or so after that. Andrew never thought he’d miss California as much as he did then, or at least the warm, sunny days when he didn’t have to bundle up in sweaters and scarves and gloves, and carry a damn umbrella all of the time. To add insult to injury, the middle of the month approached with everyone going on and on about Valentine’s Day. Red and pinks heart appeared all over the place, Prasad took to prattling on about some girl he wanted to ask out the few times their paths crossed, there were posters everywhere about parties and events and….

Nicky invited Andrew to Stuttgart, but it was Carnival season there, and Andrew didn’t think that was much better, considering how crowded everywhere would be and that he’d have to deal with drunk revelers in the streets and pubs. No, best to just stick it out and keep his head down, even though his skin crawled and stomach twisted every time he saw couples kissing and fawning all over each other on campus or out in public as the day approached.

Aaron probably had planned something special for his little cheerleader tramp.

On the day itself, Andrew only had his Social Psychology class so he was able to get to the coffee shop early, right around when a cold, sleet-like rain began to fall. Neil was busy with some guy who was dropping off a box of something, probably supplies (probably), so Andrew sat down at ‘his’ table in the corner which gave him the perfect view of the front door as well as the counter and pulled out his laptop so he could work on an essay for his history class.

The guy left after five minutes (Andrew had seen him in the shop several times before), and Neil got to work on Andrew’s coffee once the box was put away in the back room. He brought it and whatever was the ‘special’ pastry of the day out to Andrew when it was finished.

Andrew looked up from his screen and frowned at the chocolate torte with the red icing roses on top. “Really?”

Neil gave a smooth shrug, a slight smile on his face. “It’s what the bakery delivered. At least it looks terribly sweet? I figured you’d like it.”

That earned him a flat look, which Neil deflected with ease as he tucked his hands inside of the apron and walked away; that day he was wearing a thick grey sweater at least two sizes too big but skinny jeans of all things. Andrew approved of the look.

Andrew was also a moron and needed to do something about his damn hormones, especially when Neil returned to the counter and picked up his tablet, only to start biting into his full bottom lip as he seemed to work on some sort of problem.

The gorgeous, distracting idiot was right about the cake, too.

A couple in their twenties came in about half an hour later while complaining loudly about the weather, which made Andrew frown at the noise and Neil blink at being disturbed, and raised a fuss over the lack of specials for the holiday. They split a piece of cake with their drinks and hurried on their way, and Andrew noticed how Neil visibly relaxed once they were gone.

For someone who worked at if not actually ran a coffee shop, he didn’t handle customers very well. Most customers, at least.

The sound of sleet hitting the cobblestone streets outside made Andrew look up, the noise stark against the faint classical music which always played in the background (Andrew had mentioned a couple of popular bands to Neil once, only to be met by looks of confusion). The world past the window pane was grey, dreary and even more barren of people than normal.

“Uhm, that doesn’t look good,” Neil called out. “I hope you don’t have to be anywhere sometime soon?”

Andrew almost snorted at the question. “No.” He tapped his empty mug. “So get to work.”

He thought he heard Neil mumble something along the lines of ‘bossy prat’, but there was that slight smile when the young man came over with a fresh mug and another plate of the obnoxious cake a couple of minutes later. Neil set them down, just out of reach as always, but hovered there instead of leaving. “Ah… no plans tonight?” he asked, voice a little quieter than usual.

In the middle of writing a sentence, Andrew finished the thought and was saving his essay when Neil started to leave. “No,” he answered, which made the barista pause in turning away. “What about you?”

There was another of those elegant shrugs. “Nothing, other than feeding Pita.” That was Neil’s cat, and like each time he mentioned it, he smiled, the expression a mix of affection and wonderment.

And just like each time Neil smiled, Andrew felt his heart race and his mind stir up irrational thoughts – case in point, the current stupidity which spilled forth from his mouth. “Since it’s going to be dead, sit down,” he told Neil. “What else do you have to do?” he asked when the young man hesitated.

“Well, I could always check the stock or wipe everything down again… but okay.” Neil pulled out the chair opposite from Andrew, safely out of reach as always, but he’d stayed there. “Ah… so no statistics today?”

“No, today is the thrilling history of your country’s penal system,” Andrew remarked as he picked up his mug. “Lovely mix of ‘hang ‘em, deport ‘em, lock ‘em away’, I see.”

Neil toyed with the strings of his black apron as he slumped a little in the chair. “We tried thinking outside of the box a little? Last I heard, it wasn’t much better in the States.”

Andrew had to give him that. "At least it makes for a more interesting class than statistics."

That earned him another slight smile. "I think we'll agree to disagree on that one." Neil was quiet while Andrew had a bite of cake. "So... what are you studying? That makes for quite a diverse topic."

He hadn't asked Andrew that question back when Andrew had asked him about his studies, so it was only fair to answer. "Criminology."

Neil was quiet for a few more seconds and then he stood up, his motions jerky and expression shuttered. "Is that supposed to be a joke?" he all but hissed as he stalked away.

Now that was an interesting response, wasn't it?

Andrew wasn't certain what it was about the response which had set off the other young man, but Neil started a cleaning spree behind the counter while he did his best to focus on his essay. He'd just about finished it and debated chancing the still lousy weather while lighting up a cigarette when Neil began to slow down, and was stuck on a closing paragraph when the barista approached the table with a small tray in his hands. On it was two mugs, a sandwich, an orange, a bag of 'crisps' and a chocolate chip scone.

"Uhm, I'm sorry," Neil said as he hovered near the table. "That was... well, I'm sorry," he mumbled.

Andrew realized that he'd spent the last hour or so full of tension and had begun to relax upon hearing those words, and found another reason to be disgusted with himself. "What's with that?" he asked while motioning toward the tray with the hand holding the lit cigarette, rather than acknowledge the apology.

"Ah, I thought you might want something other than caffeine and sugar?" When Andrew gave a slight nod, Neil set the tray down in the middle of the table and sat in the opposite chair again. "It's not much, but I don't think anyone will deliver in this weather."

The sandwich looked to be some sort of chicken and cheddar cheese with mustard, cut in half, and probably what Neil had brought in for himself since Andrew had seen him eat the things a few times while reading his books. He took half and the chips, along with the scone and the mocha, which left the rest of the sandwich and the orange for Neil, along with what looked to be plain black coffee.

"So," Andrew said after putting out the cigarette then tearing off a piece of the sandwich (not bad, the mustard had a bit of kick to it), "how about this? I ask you a question and then you ask me one, and neither of us have to answer anything we don't want to," he offered; he'd thought about it while working on the essay, after Neil's strange response to his degree.

Neil paused in peeling the orange to cock his head to the side, a clear sign that he was considering it. "Why - and no, that's not one of my questions," he was quick to add, a tiny curl at the corner of his lips.

"Because we're stuck here without much else to do?" It didn’t have anything to do Andrew wanting to know more about a certain elusive young man, in hoping that if he appeased his curiosity that it would snuff out the unwelcome attraction.

He really should know better by then.

Neil mulled on that while he ate a piece of orange, and Andrew did _not_ stare at the way he licked his fingers clean of juice. _Dammit_. "Okay. Who goes first?"

"You can," Andrew said to put him at ease.

"Hmm." Neil had another piece of fruit while his brow furrowed with concentration. Andrew braced himself for the forthcoming question while berating himself for giving in to the impulse to learn more about his obsession, about the too-quiet boy who wouldn't leave his thoughts, and let out a slow breath after Neil spoke. "Why did you decide to come here to study?"

That wasn't as bad as it could have been, all things considered. Neil could ask why Andrew spent most of his time in a mostly empty café pining after an oblivious idiot who seemed determine to give him early onset diabetes. For some reason (a lie, he knew why he was doing it, just like he knew why he came back to the café almost every day), he decided to give more than a simple, curt answer.

“Because I needed to get away from things back home,” he replied. “My brother and I… our mother was a mess,” that was an understatement, “and put me up for adoption when she got stuck with twins.” Neil’s fake eyes went wide at that but he didn’t try to interrupt with any useless ‘I’m sorries’ or ‘that’s awful’. “It took a while for the family to find out about what she did and for them to track me down,” too much time and too much damage, “and she died not long afterwards.” Oh so sad, Tilda’s early demise – Andrew still felt… absolutely nothing for the waste of flesh.

“Aaron, my brother, and I tried to make things work, but we’re just too different,” Andrew said as he swirled the remaining bit of double mocha latte in his mug while he thought about his twin and everything he’d done for Aaron.

 He’d moved to Columbia at his twin’s request, had dealt with Tilda when he’d made certain of the woman’s abuse toward Aaron. The only surprise to it all back then had been their cousin Nicky showing up to keep them out of Uncle Luther’s hands, and then moving the three of them to Charleston ‘for a fresh start’. Andrew had gotten Aaron clean from the drugs, another part of Tilda’s legacy, and both of them had managed a hardship scholarship (with some help from Tilda’s insurance policy) to Palmetto State University while Nicky had gone back to Germany once they graduated.

They’d stuck together at PSU, as agreed, until Aaron had met his little cheerleader. After two years of fighting, Andrew and Aaron had decided that their deal was over and Andrew left for Manchester, which made Nicky happy at least.

“Since he’s working hard on a pre-med degree and has the strumpet hanging around his neck, I decided it was best for me to go away for a bit. The university had an exchange program so it meant that it didn’t mess up my scholarship or cost any money, and here I came.”

There was a spark of understanding in Neil's eyes while Andrew spoke, and he paused in eating to nod along a time or two. When Andrew finished, Neil gave him a tiny smile in sympathy. "Family... can be difficult."

It sounded as if Neil knew that all too well. "And you?" Andrew asked, and noticed the sudden tension in Neil's lean form. "Have you always lived in Manchester?"

It was quiet after that while Neil fidgeted with the orange peel and didn't look at him, to the point that Andrew was about to tell him 'never mind', and then Neil gave a muffled, joyless chuckle. "No, I haven't." He glanced around the shop without really seeing anything. "My father... he's not a good man," he said, voice almost too faint to be heard and eyes shadowed with pain. "So my mother took me and left. We didn't stay very long at many places after that, and then...." He gave a slight shrug as he sat back in the chair, his hands once more tucked beneath the apron - Andrew thought they were wrapped around his middle as if to hold something in. "I came to live with my uncle, and now I'm here. It's nice here." That came out a little stronger, a little louder. "It's peaceful and safe."

Andrew had a feeling that Neil hadn't known 'peaceful and safe' much in his life, considering the way he always kept out of reach from everyone, the way he tried to remain unnoticeable, from how he spent so much time tucked away in a near abandoned shop.

Perhaps that was why Andrew was so drawn to the impossible young man – they had something in common, it seemed. They both had monsters in their past (Neil his father, it seemed, Andrew Drake and several others) and now just wanted to be left alone after they’d managed to escape from it all.

(Hopefully escape from it all.)

They both sipped their drinks and ate a little after that bit of unexpected honesty, and then Neil summoned another slight smile. "So, another round?"

Andrew shrugged as if to show that he didn't care, then waited for the next question.

Neil picked up the sandwich but didn't take a bite just then. "Hmm, the last question was a little deeper than I'd intended. How about... do you wear anything other than black?" The sadness was gone from his fake brown eyes, replaced by a gleam of mirth; Andrew hated how much his insides twisted at the sight, how his pulse raced and throat tightened and-

This might have been a bad idea.

One day he’d learn from his past mistakes, but it appeared it wasn’t _that_ particular day. So much for him being smart.

"No," he said in a flat manner, yet Neil didn't take offense at the curt answer. "Do you ever dress in anything that didn't come from a thrift shop?"

That earned him a puzzled look as Neil's other hand crept out from behind the apron to pinch at the sleeve of his grey sweater. "These were brought brand new," he said - which wasn't a proper answer, Andrew noticed. Which meant that some of his other clothes probably did come from a thrift shop. It also meant that it was Neil's turn for another question.

They spent the next few hours going back and forth with them, asking the most random things - favorite colors, books, movies (it was clear that Neil hadn't been exposed to much 'pop' culture growing up, though whatever embarrassment he felt quickly faded when Andrew failed to judge him for that), and the such. Andrew learned that Neil’s favorite color was grey, that he enjoyed classical music because it wasn't 'distracting', and he liked cats because they could be affectionate yet not too demanding.

Andrew confessed to having an eclectic taste in music, to not really having a preference for pets, and enjoying any type book which kept his attention after the first couple of chapters.

It was... it was one of the best afternoons Andrew had in... he didn't want to think about it. Just the two of them sitting there while drinking coffee and him smoking, the questions slowly giving way to them talking back and forth. Neil's tiny smiles happened more and more over time, often when he made vague references to his uncle or a 'friend' or two who looked after him, while the sleet gradually changed to rain.

“All right, I’m going to ask it,” Andrew said after Neil brought out yet another round of drinks. “ _Why_ do you work here? Does this place even make any money?” He hadn’t paid for anything in the last few hours – Neil had waved aside his attempts.

“Ah…” Neil ducked his head, his thick, wavy hair falling onto his gorgeous face as he set down the mug (a little closer to Andrew that time). “Well, my uncle thought it would be good experience for me? It gets me out of the flat and gives me something to do.” That half-smile was back as he sat down. “I actually like it.” There was a hint of color to his cheeks and he was quick to look aside after he said that.

Andrew refused to think about _why_ he liked it. “And does it make any money?”

 Neil gave one of his elegant shrugs. “The family owns a lot of property around here, so this is a bit of a tax write-off.”

Andrew almost said ‘front’, but he kept his mouth shut and sipped his mocha instead.

“What about you? Are you… are you going to be a… do something with that degree of yours?” Neil asked, all of a sudden full of nervous tension.

That was interesting, wasn’t it? Especially considering his reaction earlier. “I don’t know,” Andrew admitted. “I chose it on a whim,” chose it because of his past, because of all those social workers who hadn’t done a damn thing about him and the others in the foster system, about all the police officers who’d failed him – except Pig Higgins. “Maybe I’ll do something with social work.” Try to improve the system that had let him down.

“Oh.” The tension left Neil’s body and he was graced with another of those damn smiles. “That... that’s admirable.”

That wasn’t helping with the whole ‘front’ theory.

“What about you? Why are you studying boring numbers?”

That led to Neil going off on how numbers weren’t boring and him admitting that he wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to do with his degree, either, but wasn’t it nice to have a little time to figure it out?

Andrew had the suspicion that it was a new thing for Neil, to have the space and safety to just breathe and live a little.

It was dark outside and at some point, Andrew had to brave the rain to return back to campus (at least it was just rain by then). His insides clenching from more than the fact that he’d barely eaten anything than cake that day and had too many cups of sweetened coffee, he focused his gaze on the half-empty mug in his hands. “So, I have to go to visit this old jail in Stirling for a class, it’s at least better than the Tower of London, less crowded. You maybe interested in getting out of Manchester for the day?”

Neil had gone still at the question, was wide (fake) brown eyes and an oddly open expression when Andrew dared to look up, and his teeth had just bitten into his bottom lip when the front door of the café opened with a loud rattle. “Fuck, but it’s awful out there today! You ready, Neil?” a tall, broad shouldered man in his late twenties asked as he brushed off the water clinging to his trench coat (Burberry, Andrew was willing to guess. He’d seen the man before, usually in the Aston Martin which chauffeured Neil to and from work.

“Uhm, Bren!” Neil shot to his feet with a rare show of clumsiness, the table jostled when his right hip smacked into it. “Is it – it’s time already?”

“Yeah.” The man – Bren, apparently – nodded as he gave Neil and then Andrew an assessing look. “You ready?”

“Ah, yes, in a minute.” Neil turned to Andrew and gave him a nervous grin. “I’ll be right back, so wait here?” he asked while he snatched up their mugs and scurried toward the back of the café.

He didn’t really give Andrew a chance to reply, but Andrew needed to pack up his things anyway, which he did under the watchful eye of Neil’s driver (bodyguard? It sounded like Neil’s family had some money, his taste in apparel aside).

“So… you’re the Yank going to school here, right?” Bren asked as he fussed with the front of his coat.

Andrew gave him a bland look as he finished putting his laptop into his bag and nodded once, his right hand hovering near his left sleeve ‘just in case’.

The man grunted and gave a look at the back of the shop. “You know, Neil’s not really the friendly type. So for him to-“

“I’m done!” Neil called out as he ran toward them with a carry-out bag in his hand and a glower on his face, remarkably light and quick on his feet. “And Bren? _No_ ,” he warned in a low voice.

“What? It was nothing!” the man said as he held up his hands and tried for an innocent expression. It might have worked better if he didn’t look as if he moonlighted as a bouncer at clubs when not driving the nice car parked outside.

Neil stared him down for a couple of seconds before he half-turned to Andrew. “Ah, here.” The bag was shoved into Andrew’s hands before he went to turn off the lights, a clear sign that he was ready to close up the shop then leave.

Bitterness and disappointment washed through Andrew as he hitched his backpack higher up onto his left shoulder and stepped outside, almost not bothering with his umbrella despite the cold drizzle falling down. He should have known it wouldn’t work out, that Neil was an impossible dream. Just because an attractive young man who seemed equally messed up talked to him didn’t mean anything. Neil was just being ‘nice’ to the one regular customer who came into his stupid coffee shop.

Andrew almost threw out the box of cakes on his way back to the dorm, but he figured he might as well keep them since he wasn’t sure if he could keep going back to The Bolt-Hole and seeing something he wanted (stupid fool that he was) just out of reach. Especially after making such an ass out of himself that day.

He should know better. He functioned best when he didn’t try with people, when he kept to himself, when he shut everyone out. When he didn’t allow those useless emotions to take hold.

All Neil had been was just another lesson in that regard.

Prasad must be out on his date, which was fine with Andrew. He’d grabbed a couple of egg salad sandwiches and chips from a nearby store, along with some beer, and took a hot shower to warm up as soon as he reached his room.

He ate his dinner and drank one of the beers before he looked inside of the bag, craving something sweet to go along with the alcohol. Inside was the plain white Styrofoam box which Neil always used to pack the pastries… and a folded slip of paper.

Andrew frowned as he opened the note, and needed a few seconds to puzzle out the atrocious handwriting; it was a phone number and the word ‘yes’.

He sat there staring down at it as an unfamiliar feeling came over him, something so dizzying and almost terrifying that he felt lightheaded. It was as if he stood at the ledge of the roof of some tall building and looked down at the ground, the emotion was so strong, and was a rush of danger and excitement from him daring to take that one step.

Neil had said ‘yes’.

Andrew should know better, he really should. He was just giving in to some ridiculous impulse, and for what? He’d be gone in a few more months.

Neil with the false contacts and dyed hair, with the tragic past and everything else that screamed ‘broken’ about him. Who smiled at Andrew and gave him dessert and had been careful about his questions, after the first one.

Andrew _really_ should know better.

He prepared himself to fall and reached for his phone.

*******

**Author's Note:**

> *******  
> For those following my WIP fics, tomorrow will be Not in the Stars ch2.
> 
> Many thanks for any comments and kudos!  
> *******


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